“When I met death too early
I did not pray for you, or beg for time
to peel back like muscle from the bone.
I thought of our child who never was.
Her hair like mine, a blackberry bush of curls.
Your half moon eyes shining
from her face, always giving too much away.
It is my swan song. My final scream.
The cry of women, my good lord.”
I literally crave affection. It’s not about sex. I crave somebody to cuddle with me, and to lay their head on my lap. I crave kisses, holding hands and running my thumb across theirs. Just looking at someone and thinking “how did I get this lucky”.